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THE INDIAN ANTIQUARY.
[OCTOBER, 1876.
Think upon that self-developed, everlasting
One Supreme, Fling aside all vain delusions, all the world
ling's baseless dream, Pity those dull slaves of custom who are caught
with empty toys, Kingly crowns, and thrones imperial, and a
round of sensual joys.
All these are huckstering methods,
Give me that perfect way Of self-contained fruition,
Where pain is done away,
Our life is like th' unstable wave,
our bloom of youth decays, Our joys are brief as lightning flash
in summer's cloudy days, Our riches fleet as swift as thought.
Faith in the One Supreme Alone will bear us o'er the gulfs
of Being's stormy stream.
You mount to heaven, again you sink to hell, You roam the world around with anxious
breast, And yet not e'en by chance your thought doth
dwell On Him who only gives the spirit rest.
Can all this earth encloses
Flutter the sage's breast ? Say, can the darting minnow
Trouble the ocean's rest ?
Night follows night, and day succeedeth day, And thoughtless men hurry to work and play, But sages ought to blush when treading found, Year after year, the same dull weary round.
Stretched out at ease upon the ground, and
pillowed on his arm, The houseless hermit sleeps in peace, secure
from nightly harm, The breeze his fan, his lamp the moon, his
canopy the sky, What royal palace of this earth can such de
lights supply?
I love the moon's soft beams, I love the grassy - wood, I love to talk of verse among the wise and
good, I love the fair one's face gleaming with angry
tears, I think how fleeting all, and pleasure disap
pears.
Feasts, flatteries, and idle hours
Make up a prince's day, Let not the saint employ his powers
To compass kingly sway: But quaff the ever-brimming stream
Of pure and holy mirth; Who that hath tasted bliss supreme
Can sink to joys of earth?
Lonely among his kind,
Breaking on alms his fast, Free as th' unfettered wind,
The hermit wanders past, Of tattered rags his dress,
He knows no care nor pride, He longs for quietness,
And has no want beside.
What profit are the Vedas,
Or books of legal lore, Or those long-winded legends,
Repeated o'er and o'er ? What gain we by our merits?
A dwelling in the skiesA miserable mansion,
That men of sense despise.
My mother Earth,
My kinsman Fire, Water my friend,
And Wind my sire, My brother Heaven,
A long adieu ! By merit gained
When linked to you I've purchased grace
To break my chains, And merge in that
Which all sustains.
